


An Idle Mind

by chelseagirl



Series: Alias Investigations [5]
Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Banter, Boredom, Gen, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22165426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelseagirl/pseuds/chelseagirl
Summary: Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry are bored in the long, cold Montana winter.  But when the local sheriff asks for their assistance, they learn there are worse things than boredom.
Relationships: Hannibal Heyes/Original Female Character(s), Jed "Kid" Curry & Hannibal Heyes, Jed "Kid" Curry/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Alias Investigations [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/923334
Comments: 11
Kudos: 11





	An Idle Mind

Hannibal Heyes was pacing. Again.

“Some of us need to sleep,” said his wife, groggily.

He continued to pace, back and forth across the bedroom floor. It was lucky the room was a large one, Ella thought, or he might wear a hole in it, the way he was going. As it was, the rug was looking a bit threadbare, and she could swear that this past autumn it had not been. But now it was deep into a cold and snowy Montana winter, and it was clear that the confinement was getting to Heyes.

“Some of us have a complicated set of negotiations on a land deal tomorrow morning. For one of our biggest clients,” Ella muttered, and pulled the quilt over her head. As the pacing continued, though, she threw it off again. “What are you worried about? You arranged things so that you wouldn’t have to work this winter. Enjoy yourself!”

“Worried about not having anything to worry about,” he muttered.

Now she sat upright. “I thought you and Jed liked doing nothing much. Just relaxing, when you actually get the chance. What on earth did you do during those long Devil’s Hole winters, anyway?”

“Planned jobs for the next spring,” said Heyes. “Practiced playing around with tumbler locks. Thought about newer and better ways to blow safes. Tried ‘em. Played cards. Drank more whiskey than we ought to’ve done, sometimes. If the snows weren’t too bad, we went into town to visit the ladies at the saloon. All pretty much stuff I’d get kicked out of this house for.” He shook his head in mock dismay.

“You’re welcome to play cards anytime you like, my love, as long as you don’t gamble away the deed to the house.”

“I thought your parents left you the house in some kind of trust, anyway. Untouchable.”

“It’s almost as though Daddy knew I’d fall in love with some no-account outlaw, isn’t it?” But she could see from his expression that now wasn’t the time for joking around. “Father and I were united in our disdain for the married women’s property laws. And even though I kept telling him I was never going to marry, he knew me better than I knew myself.”

“I wasn’t a no-account outlaw. I was really good at it.” But then Heyes sighed, and shook his head, slowly. “There’s no point in figurin’ out how to get into safes, as long as I’m not gonna be takin’ anything out of them. So, there’s only one thing for it.” He walked over to the side of the bed, and gave her the most wide-eyed, innocent look he could manage. “Unless, of course, you really need a good night’s sleep. I could always see if any of the ladies at the saloon . . .”

“Don’t even joke about that. Ever.”

“. . . wanted to play cards. What’d you think I meant? Some of those saloon gals are real good poker players, turns out. Who’d’ve thought it, right?”

Ella gave him a skeptical look.

“They spend a lot of time watching card games and they pick up a thing or two.” He couldn’t keep a straight face any longer, and broke into a wide, dimpled grin. “As far as the other thing goes, you’re the only one for me. You know that,” he said, pulling her into a long, deep kiss. For the moment, at least, he’d found something to occupy himself with that absorbed his attention thoroughly. And somehow, his wife forgot all about the need for sleep that she’d been on about.

The next morning, though, she was up early, and he watched idly from the bed as she washed and dressed and gathered her things to head off to her meeting. After she’d gone, he did likewise, and wandered downstairs, where he found Jed sitting at the dining table, looking just the way Heyes felt. There was a clattering of dishes and similar noises coming from the kitchen, where Sandy was probably teaching young Francesca, the Heyes’s new ward, how to cook.

“What’s the matter, Kid?”

“Never thought I’d get tired of relaxing, Heyes. But this weather . . . we can’t really ride out, there’s nothin’ much to do, and I never thought I’d hear myself sayin’ this, but Sandy’s cookin’ is turnin’ into too much of good thing.” He lifted up the loose woolen overshirt he’d been wearing lately – Heyes had assumed because of the Montana wintertime cold – and underneath, it was clear that all the dinners and the breakfasts and the pies and cakes Sandy had made to show her love for him were starting to leave their mark.

“Looks like she knocked you up, this time.”

“It ain’t funny, Heyes.” The Kid rolled his eyes, dropping the shirt back down and concealing the evidence. “I’ve always loved to eat. And this never happened before.”

“It’s not that bad, Kid. Anyway, we’re getting older. And you’re eating her cooking every meal, every day, now. We used to miss a lot of meals, in the old days, so when you ate like that, you were makin’ up for something.” He thought for a moment, “Maybe it’s like you’re a bear, just fattening up for winter. You’ll wake up in the spring, back in fighting form, you watch.”

“That assumes I’m gonna go take a nap for the rest of the winter.”

“Maybe that’s not a bad idea, if you’re as bored as I am.”

The two men looked at each other. 

“It’s not that I don’t like it up here,” Heyes said, somewhat hesitantly. “Even when we’re not on the road half the time. It was our idea to come back to Blue Sky, not theirs.”

“Does feel nice and homey. Just not during the winter, when we’re stuck indoors all the time.”

Heyes sighed. “Well, it’s nice to have time for catching up on my reading.”

“There’s that. And learnin’ woodcarving. Did I show you what I’m workin’ on?”

“And you can still go hunting in this weather.”

“You can come along.”

“True. What with my tracking skills and all.”

The Kid rolled his eyes at that, but then they looked at each other and sighed.

“Remember, back in the old days, we used to imagine retiring down to Mexico, sittin’ somewhere warm, maybe on the ocean? With a lot of drinks and some pretty senoritas, laughing at our bad Spanish but not at our money or our undeniable charm and good looks.”

“Yup.” The Kid looked around the room. “How long do you think we would’ve managed that before we got bored with it?”

Heyes looked pensive. “Maybe a month? Two at the outside. Still . . . you think we could convince our wives to spend the winter in Mexico, somewhere?”

Curry shook his head. “Yeah, Sandy with an infant and us lookin’ to have another? Exactly what she’d want, to head off on a long trip. And now that Ella’s happily reunited with her real true love, her law practice, you think she’s just gonna take off from work for a couple of months?”

“Probably not. Ella’s never been the type to let a little thing like winter get in her way. I never even realized we owned a sleigh, but she’s off and running with the thing as though the snow and the cold are no reason to slow down. But when we lived here before, after me and Ella first got married, you and me used to take off south right after Christmas to find work. We didn’t really come home ‘til spring.”

A large shape loomed in the doorway. “You boys home?” came a voice with a tell-tale Swedish accent. Here was someone who even sounded as though he took the winter in stride.

“Sven, that you?”

“Yes. Sheriff wants to see you. Get your snow gear on, and come along with me.”

“Long as we ain’t in trouble,” said Jed.

“Sheriff wants your help with something. I should’ve said.”

“Those are words I’ll never get used to hearing,” muttered Heyes to his partner.

Having pulled on their warm winter coats, they joined Deputy Sheriff Sven Rasmussen on the porch. Outside waited yet another of those ridiculous sleighs. Heyes shook his head. Sometimes it felt like they were living at the North Pole.

The giant Swede smiled at them, but quickly grew serious. “Body found at the old sawmill, just outside town. Sheriff thought you might be able to help.”

“Does the sheriff understand we’re security consultants, not Sherlock Holmes?” asked the Kid.

“That seems to be a common mistake,” added Heyes. He turned to the deputy, and asked something he’d long been curious about. “Ain’t it strange, with the new sheriff being so much younger’n you, Sven? Why didn’t you take the job, when they asked you to?”

Rasmussen shook his head. “Being deputy still leaves me with enough time for my music. Sheriff’s a lot more responsibility. And maybe it was good to bring in someone from the outside.”

Heyes snapped his fingers. “Music! That’s what I could be doin’ with all this free time. I could pull out that old guitar.”

“Didn’t Ella threaten to smash it to kindling if she caught you playin’ it again?”

“Who knew anyone didn’t like ‘Simple Gifts’?”

“Heyes, we all liked it, the first half-dozen times. In a day. It wasn’t ‘til evening that violence was threatened.”

“I know other songs.”

“Hope so, because she wasn’t the only one who threatened to break that guitar. And she might be makin’ idle threats, but I wouldn’t be.”

Sven just laughed at them. “Do you two ever stop?”

“Only when we’re sleeping,” said Heyes.

“Sometimes not even then.” Curry gave his partner a dirty look. “Least when we’re home, we’re not sharin’ a room. When we’re on the road, he gets an idea in his head, he’s likely to share it with me any time of the day or night. At home, he’s Ella’s problem, at least during the hours when most folks’d rather be sleeping. Which is just as well, because we’ve got the little one wakin’ us up, Sandy and me.”

“I remember when my children were small,” the deputy agreed. “But that was long ago. You never met my Birgitta, my first wife. We met on the boat coming over.” He looked away, as if embarrassed. “Well, that was then. Gloria sends her regards.” The second Mrs. Rasmussen, who’d put a spring back in a lonely widower’s step.

They passed a few more sleighs on the way – they were all the rage in wintry Blue Sky, Montana. Heyes was surprised at how smooth the ride was, really.

When they arrived at the mill, the sheriff was waiting for them. Sven dropped them off, and then hurried on his own way. Sheriff Allen Bradshaw was a tall, slim man with dark hair, light eyes, and a rather impressive moustache. Heyes was never entirely comfortable around him, because he never seemed entirely relaxed himself – more coiled and ready to spring into action at the slightest excuse.

He tipped his hat as they approached. “’lo, gentlemen. The body’s in here.”

Heyes and Curry exchanged glances.

“Who is it?” asked the Kid.

“The miller – Jim Pollard. As you can see, he was stabbed in the heart with a real big bowie knife. Looks like the killer stuck him and then ran, leaving the knife behind. No other signs of a struggle, which suggests it came as a surprise.”

Pollard was an older man, grey-haired and stocky, and he’d remained strong and active right ‘til the last. He lay still now, but he still seemed startled, even in death.

“Not so many folks in town who could overpower Jim Pollard,” Heyes said, looking at the body. His expression suggested a mixture of curiosity and discomfort.

“Definitely not. To stab him like this – that’d take someone pretty strong. Looks like it was one thrust, straight in.” Curry frowned.

“Do you know much about knives?” asked the sheriff. “Ever been in a knife fight, when you were still on the other side of the law?”

“Nope. Just used knives for basic utility stuff. It was always guns, with me. Pretty much from the first time I held one in my hand – just a natural connection. But I’ve taken up woodcarving lately, to keep me occupied this winter, and I’ve been thinking more about knives.” The blond man bent over the corpse, focusing on the blade. He reached out his hand when Heyes snapped at him.

“Don’t touch that!”

Curry drew back.

“Sorry, Kid, but . . . remember the fingermarks?”

“Yeah. That you read about in that Mark Twain book and then we . . . yeah, sorry, Heyes.”

“Fingermarks?” asked the sheriff.

“Apparently everyone has different patterns on the ends of their fingers. Every single person, they’re different. ‘Course, the killer could’ve been wearing gloves, but it’s worth handling the knife with care – maybe using your handkerchief.”

“Could do,” said Bradshaw. “And if you could loan me that book sometime?”

“ _Life on the Mississippi_? Yeah, I’m pretty sure we’ve got a copy in the house, somewhere. Any other evidence?” Heyes looked around the room, hoping to spot something that had eluded the keen-eyed sheriff, even as he admitted to himself it wasn’t very likely.

Bradshaw shook his head. “Nope. There must’ve been tracks at some point, but it’s been snowing so much that any traces from earlier would’ve been obliterated completely.” He looked out the window. “It’s picked up again, pretty hard. Even Sven’s tracks from dropping you off are half-gone already. And here he comes with the undertaker.”

The men fell silent, watching the horse-drawn sleigh approach. It was remarkably silent, as the snow muffled much of the sound, so that what could be heard was almost magnified, the creaking of the harness and two men speaking softly. As they pulled up outside the mill, the giant Swede stepped down from the box and tied up his horses. A few moments later, he entered, followed by a smaller, slender man dressed in dark clothing. There was a brief exchange and it was agreed that the murder weapon would be left for the sheriff at his office – and that the undertaker would be very careful in handling it. The former outlaws and the sheriff turned their attention back to their surroundings.

“Did Pollard live upstairs?” Heyes asked. “Was he married? I don’t recall ever meeting a Missus Pollard around town.”

“Pollard was a bachelor, but his assistant, Sam Robbins, had a wife. Sam used to live here when he was single, and he’d still sleep here at the mill sometimes when things got busy. His wife and the baby live at her parents’ place, some ways out of town.”

“That cause any tension?” Heyes asked.

“Good question. Thought you might ask Missus Robbins that.”

“Why us?” asked Jed Curry. “Ain’t that kinda . . . what you do?”

Sheriff Bradshaw had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Yeah, about that. Marigold Robbins and I have a bit of a . . . history.”

“Used to court her?” The other men looked at each other, and each tried hard not to crack a smile. The sheriff hadn’t been in town long enough for that, but they noticed he still fidgeted.

“Not so much that as, well, I brought her in a few weeks ago for disturbing the peace.”

“Like drunk and disorderly? Woman with a small child like that?”

Sheriff Bradshaw shook his head. “Nothing like that. The little one was teething, her parents were away, and her husband was staying at the mill that night. Just got to be too much for her and she kinda, well, snapped. Ran out in the street and started calling her husband and his boss all sorts of names – names you wouldn’t’ve thought a ladylike woman like that would even know.”

“So you arrested her?” Curry looked disbelieving. “We got a little one like that home now, and I’m amazed my wife ain’t done that herself, least when Heyes and me were away on business so much this fall.”

“Brought her in, mostly to calm her down. Sent Sven to the house to get the child, then found her husband for her. Ever since then, don’t think he’s spent a single night sleeping at the mill, no matter how busy things got.”

Heyes frowned, his dark brows forming a straight line. “So, then, she’s a suspect, or her husband?”

“It’s worth looking into, but it doesn’t seem that likely,” said the sheriff. “Like Jed was saying, whoever stabbed Jim Pollard had some considerable strength. Can’t imagine Marigold Robbins stabbing a man right in the chest like this. Not with that kind of force. Sam’s a big man, but no one ever heard of any friction between him and Jim. They were the best of friends. Just don’t make any sense. Guess I was hoping you two might find signs of forced entry or something. You know, something some kind of high class security consulting firm might see that I just can’t.” He gave a rueful smile.

“We can take a look,” Heyes agreed. “But it’s not like in those stories, where a bit of forgotten cigar ash’ll lead us straight to the killer or something.”

The two former outlaws spent some time examining the place. “None of the windows were forced,” said Curry. “But then, Pollard would have been likely to open the door to anyone, figuring it was business coming.”

“Doesn’t seem like anything is missing,” muttered Sheriff Bradshaw. The sheriff took his leave, saying he’d let them take a look around themselves, and that he’d expect them to check in with him later, at his office.

Kid Curry busied himself looking at some papers on what must have been Pollard’s desk. When he looked up, a short time later, he realized Heyes was no longer in the room. A moment later, he located his missing partner in a back room, staring raptly at a safe.

Heyes turned away from it with some reluctance. “Guess even if we could get in, we’d have no idea what was supposed to be there. The thing could be empty and it still might mean nothing, if Pollard had just been to the bank.”

Returning to the front room, Jed Curry picked up a poker to stir the fire. As he did, a fragment of paper was dislodged. Before it could burn, he speared it and pulled it out. “What’s this?”

Heyes joined his partner in front of the fireplace. “It’s hard to make out,” he said. “Looks like it says ‘—sday’ which could be lots of days, and,” he squinted, “maybe ‘delivery’? Maybe not.”

“Who knows? The killer could’ve burned it to keep folks from seeing it, but Pollard could also have burned it because it’s cold out and every little bit adds to the fire.” Heyes frowned. “I don’t remember much about Jim Pollard, but I recall playing cards with him once or twice down at the saloon. Cautious player, tended to win small, lose small.”

Curry nodded. “Can’t say I remember much more’n that myself. But maybe we could ask around, see whether folks’ve noticed anything unusual about him lately?”

“Makes sense. Guess if we’re leaving no stone unturned, I should have a go at that safe, before we leave.” With a show of annoyance, Heyes went back to the safe and, leaning his head close to the door, began slowly to manipulate the tumblers.

Having exhausted the possibilities of the front office, Curry returned to the back to join his partner. He smiled to himself at the familiar expression of rapt concentration which he hadn’t seen in some time. Despite Heyes’ feigned irritation, it was clear he relished keeping his hand in at opening safes to which he hadn’t been supplied with the combination. A click, and the door opened.

“Well, would you look at that?” There was a smallish stack of bills, and a leather portfolio inside. Ignoring the cash, Heyes removed the portfolio, which contained what looked like a legal document. “Some kind of contract, seems to have to do with a sale of land or something. Think I’ll bring this home and see what Ella makes of it.” He folded the document and tucked it safely away in an inside jacket pocket, then replaced his hat and heavy coat.

The saloon was half-empty, unusual for a Friday night in Blue Sky.

“It’s the weather,” said the bartender, a melancholy looking man named Silas, unhappily. “Another whiskey, against the chill?”

“Why not?” said Heyes, and Curry nodded his agreement. The two men raised their drinks and downed them.

“Awful thing about Jim Pollard,” the bartender, wiping down a glass as he spoke. “Did you hear?”

Jed Curry was about to answer in the affirmative, when from the corner of his eye, he caught a subtle warning nod from Heyes. Quickly changing tactics, he said, “Uh, no. What happened?”

“Terrible thing. Found dead at the mill. Seems he was stabbed right in the heart, and nobody’s got the slightest idea why. Did you two know Jim?”

“Not well,” said Heyes. “Used to see him in here from time to time. Thought he was pretty well-liked around town, wasn’t he? At least, we never heard anyone say anything bad about him.”

“Now ain’t that funny,” said a bald-headed man sitting near them at the bar. “Considering how your wife was the lead attorney in a lawsuit against him, just last summer.”

“Was she, Aaron?” Heyes recognized the man as an acquaintance from around town. “I was traveling a lot on business over the summer. Might’ve missed it.”

“Would you, now?” The man sounded skeptical. “It was a pretty big case.”

Heyes took a deep breath, knowing he was going to regret what he was about to say, at least if it ever got back to Ella. “Well, you know my wife’s a real pretty lady. And sometimes, especially if I haven’t been home in a spell, when I do get there I’m more interested in looking than, well, listening.”

A dismaying number of the married men within earshot laughed sympathetically. “Least yours is worth looking at,” muttered one of them. And Heyes had to admit to himself that, much as he’d never want Ella to find out, sometimes he was more interested in the way her eyes sparkled, as she told a story, or how soft and inviting her lips looked as she spoke, than in what she was actually saying. Especially because the law stuff could get a bit technical, at times.

A short while later, the two men took their leave. “Funny the sheriff didn’t say anything about some lawsuit against Jim Pollard, ain’t it, Heyes?” said Jed Curry. The snow made a sort of crunching sound beneath their boots.

“Maybe he doesn’t know? This is a small town, but not everyone knows each other’s business.”

“Right. Which is why Mister MacAllister at the mercantile knew that Sandy and I were hopin’ for another baby, and Alice Adler knew that we were thinkin’ Joshua for a boy or Genevieve for a girl.”

“You were?” said Heyes, frowning as they continued to trudge. Well, he supposed it made sense to have a baby Joshua to go with small Thaddeus – complete the set. But Sandy wasn’t even expecting yet. “You’re right. When I had lunch at the Blue Sky Hotel a few days ago, Daisy there knew all about the new barn we were plannin’ to build out back. Said the fellow she’s walking out with was talking with Miz Merrow who teaches Sunday school, and she’s best pals with Missus Frick, whose husband runs the hardware store.” The snow continued to fall.

“And it’s the sheriff’s business to know things about everyone in town.”

“Especially legal trouble.”

“So he’s hiding something. Why call us in, then?”

“Because, as you so aptly put it, Kid, we’re not Sherlock Holmes. We know about banks and railroads, and how to steal from them, so we can show folks how not to be stolen from. But the few times we’ve figured out who . . . dunnit . . . it’s been mostly by chance.” Heyes frowned.

“But that’s not really true.” Jed pointed out. “Remember the time we . . . and then also when you realized that . . .”

“And that other time when you . . . Kid, you’re right. We actually are pretty good at figuring out who’s done a thing.”

“But the sheriff don’t know that.” The two men looked at one another with dawning comprehension. “It’s a set-up. We can’t figure it out, these big fancy security consultants, and what does that mean?”

“Means no one can.”

“And the undertaker’s bringing him the only evidence that might tie things together – now that we’ve told him about the fingermarks.”

“So he can destroy it. Like he burned that bit of paper you found, that said he’d be there on Thursday – yesterday.”

They were drawing near to the outskirts of town now, and Heyes pointed. “Fresh hoofprints. Someone’s been to the house, Kid. Someone who’s . . . I remember the case now. Ella told me about it when you and I’d just got back from that trip to Chicago. We’d been away three whole weeks, and she was wearing a new dress, and all I could think of was how pretty she looked in it and how much I wanted to get her out of it, but she was saying something about the sawmill and her client and a conflict of interest. By then I’d . . . well . . . I’d definitely stopped paying attention, but I feel like it had something to do with—“ he looked at the Kid with dawning comprehension.

“With the sheriff’s brother and how runoff from the mill was clogging the water that ran down to his land.” Curry nodded. “I remember, now. And I remember you and me riding down that way, thinking what a shame it was.”

The house was in sight and there was a horse tied to the porch railing. Heyes and Curry exchanged glances. There was no way they were going to be able to approach the house silently, not with that icy snow crunching beneath their feet. Heyes drew his gun; his partner didn’t need to.

They drew nearer. They heard a voice, muffled by being inside, but clearly barking orders. A shot rang out.

The two men accelerated their pace, clattered up the steps, and threw the door wide open, only to see . . . 

Their wives, dark beautiful Sandy and fair-haired Ella, clinging together, a look of . . . could it possibly be amusement? on the latter’s face.

The sheriff, standing back and placing his gun on the floor, as . . . 

A young girl of 14 or 15 held a shotgun on him. “Now kick it across the floor,” she said. Instinctively, she’d deepened her voice, as she’d done when she’d lived as a boy, to keep her safe back during the years she and her orphaned brothers lived from hand to mouth on the streets of Billings.

A click, and Jed Curry said, “All right, Franky. I’ve got him covered now. Heyes, get his gun? And Franky, you go run and get Sven Rasmussen. ‘Fraid the deputy’s gonna have to arrest his sheriff.”

Later, they all sat together in the front parlor. Sandy held small Thaddeus on her lap, while Jed sat with his arm protectively around her. Heyes and Francesca Bird, his and Ella’s ward, sat on each side of the fire, trying to warm up, while Ella sat opposite Heyes, looking pensive. After awhile, she spoke. “The thing is, the law really did fail Denny Bradshaw. The run-off from the mill was making some serious problems for his land. He had rights – Jeremy and I pulled out all the stops in court – but the judge didn’t want to be seen as against progress, and the sawmill’s been popular in town.”

“Denny Bradshaw – didn’t he break his neck in a fall from a horse?” Heyes asked.

Ella nodded, slowly. “When things didn’t go his way, he started drinking heavily. His brother applied for the job of sheriff and folks in town thought Allen Bradshaw could look after Denny. Make it up to him, without actually doing the thing he really needed – getting the sawmill to stop, or at least to mitigate damages. When Denny died, Sheriff Bradshaw had nothing on his mind but to blame someone. To blame Jim Pollard. And then me, the lawyer who couldn’t make things go his brother’s way.” She looked each man in the eyes, and then rose and slid her arms around Francesca’s shoulders from behind, giving her an embrace. “If it hadn’t been for our brave girl here, I’m not sure that he wouldn’t have shot us before you two got back.”

“I was out back, in the barn, looking after the horses,” explained Franky. “I heard a commotion going on in the house, and just grabbed that old shotgun.”

“Which we don’t keep loaded,” Curry said.

“I knew that,” said the girl. “But I figured Sheriff Bradshaw wouldn’t.”

“Well, one good thing,” said Heyes. “Sven’s finally gonna have to take the sheriff job, isn’t he?”

“Maybe so,” Curry replied, his blue eyes twinkling. “Unless Franky wants it.”

“Possibly. When I’m older, and Mister Rasmussen retires,” said the girl. “First lady sheriff in all of Montana – wouldn’t that be something?”

**Author's Note:**

> If you've been reading the Blue Sky stories -- the Ella and Alias Investigations series -- you'll be familiar with the original characters, Ella and Sandy and probably Sven Rasmussen. Francesca, now the Heyes's ward, is an orphan who was introduced in "H & C Security Services: On the Road", the story which precedes this one chronologically.
> 
> The author is by no means suggesting that married people don't always listen to each other. *cough*


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